Heteric blood
by holletraumes
Summary: Collection of drabbles based around Lily's artwork, mostly about the Uchiha's.
1. Chapter 1

It's the everlasting silence that seems to drive them into a never-ceasing madness. Fingers curled around a slim waist, one that has been though hell and high water just to keep the other living. The fingers almost seem skeletal and boney, A muted heliotrope color that stretches across the knuckles, the faded coloring of bruises, the marks upon the flesh.

Bare skin of the collarbone exposed across the cold air. Raven strands falling across the flesh draped over the soft material of the fishnet shirt. His fingers are spasming beyond his control, twitching from the pain flashing across his inner eyelids. The vermillion color leaking from the comer of his eyes dripping, polling as it slides across the skin. The steady drips as it splashes across the inner palm of his hand.

Looking like small colored spatters of snow almost across the tanned flesh in which the scarlet liquid seems to stick out upon. His mouth open, making this borderline moaning noise from the pain awakened from his eyes. He can feel the calloused grip, that keeps the light from hitting them, keeps them in the oblivion to try to dim the pain.

His own hand wanting to rip his hair out from the pain. Despite what he has felt before, this feels like an agony on his body. There's another moaning noise- that escapes his parted lips. He sees white behind his closed eyes. He can hardly think at this point, he can't process that pain. Every-time the pain in his eyes comes around he stops thinking. The pain in his head makes everything ring, and the slightest light hurt his eyes.

The albicant light seems smoldering across his eyes. It's like a fire eating at them. He wants to cry out, and scream or even shriek at the top of his lungs but instead he lets out these low degrading moans of pain, that seem everlasting. Blood pooling in his open hand. His words not making any sense that do escape his tongue and lips.

He tries to catch his breath, lungs feeling as if they are being burned. The sharp pain in them sempiternal, despite the medications he's taken for his illness that will win sooner or later. His words fragmented and broken Japanese being spat and muttered between whimpers. "Please, I-" It's choked and broken as if he's trying to speak English.

Raven hair thick, covering deep cinnabar eyes, stare at the mere child that is almost shrieking from the pain. His fingers digging almost into the flesh of his wrist almost making moon shaped bruises in them, by how hard he's gripping his wrist. "Shh." He mutters,soft into the ear of the young Uchiha almost like a cooing mother.

Almost, but without the caring affection of one. "It's almost over." There's a pause in his voice, almost sounding like near amusement, borderline pleasured from the other 's a moment where Itachi goes slack in the hold. A brief second where the pain stops and he can breathe without feeling like there's acid in his throat. A moment where his eyes aren't given him a migraine that leaves him feeling like he wants to collapse on the spot.

Tremors are ranking though him. After-effects of the seeing pain. Itachi opens his eyes for a moment seeing the tanned flesh of his hand. Blackness to his eyes that are failing with his vision, it's evident in them. His free hand moves to cast Madara's hand away from his eyes. Blood seeping from them still dripping from his face.

There aren't words that either of them say. They don't speak of this. They don't mention each other's pain. Itachi never acts like this ever happens, he hides it. Pretends that he doesn't feel anything, but at heart he has a weight that is unbearable on his heart. The twisted lies that he casted upon his younger sibling at such a young age.

There's nothing said as the elder Uchiha brushes a strand of hair from Itachi's face moving it away. Brushing his own dark locks from his eyes to look at the child, parting his lips for a moment almost to speak but he stops midway changing his thought.

"It would be wise to sleep, child."

Nothing more is said as hair falls back across the elder's eyes turning to walk away. Not uttering another word to him, a fleeting moment of emotion as his fingers meet the other's as his hand slips away from his wrist, and Madara retreats to his own corridor leaving the Uchiha standing looking as if he had cried bloody tears.


	2. Chapter 2

[_I could corrupt you, it'd be easy.] [Inspired off of this] _

Dysphoira.

It's the best way to describe it when it first happens. The feeling that seems to resonate though their bones, that curls under the skin. It makes the hair on him stand out on end, feeling the calloused fingers touch to the flesh of his face. It's unsettling the touch, it's one he hasn't felt in years.

It's been years, since he's been touched upon by someone that wasn't Shisui. His skin feels like it's crawling, even though he has a stoic stare at the elder male. His flesh wants to squirm or pull away from the chilling touch that seems to flare a fire across his skin.

Scarlett eyes mirrors scaring back at one another. He can see the curious look in the elder, the almost taunting look at him, thier eyes seem frozen at they look at one another. Thumb slowly moving back and forth across the skin of his lip, that's a faint pink and parted ever so slightly. The slight chill of air hitting across the fingertips.

The roughened skin holding the side of the other's face as if cradling it. He hasn't moved since the other began to touch his skin, the touch foreign, but also not. The advances like this haven't been made on him since he was a child.

Advances that had left his mind reeling, and he had repressed things. Certain matters, that no one had known about, but _him_.

Madara had this way of being sly and playing things off. Even in a discord, or paradox. He was always one step ahead of the younger Uchiha, and well there wasn't anything to be said about that. The mere fact that he could smell him by how close he was to him was unsettling him..

It made a knot twist into his stomach, but Itachi never once cried out for help. He never once spoke about these matters or even spoke words about these types of matters. It was an unspoken agreement, and he hadn't seeked physical contact in years due to this. There was a fear that seemed to flicker in his eyes if you looked hard enough.

If you looked. The only one that had been able to touch Itachi without the unease had been his brother, but none the less times had changed. The comfort wasn't an option anymore. Not at least in these matters. Madara none the less stared on at the child, his eyes seeming to try to stare into his soul.

There was a small swallow from his throat, as his own cinnabar eyes met the others back. Madara's hand slipped from his cheek, movements almost seeming light. Seeming almost soft for the male, who lacked any care or even concern for the younger of the two.

The game he was playing, was _corrupt. _He knew this, his heart knew this by all means. Madara was perhaps the one person that could undo Itachi's mind and soul in one breath if he wanted to. If he craved to, he could do _it_. As much as Madara had been a savior he had also been Itachi's twisted shadow.

"Is this what you wanted from _him?_ Seeing him quake in fear yet morbid curiosity as he stands before you?" The tongue that lets those words escape is one that is of rancid poison. The words are executed and fluid, not even so much as a flinch as he says them.

He drags his fingernails down the exposed flesh that is his neck for a mere moment. Itachi says nothing his lips moving to closed line. He doesn't dare move let alone speak right now, but he can feel the inner core of his body reacting, the movements that are drawing upon the heat. One that he's learned to keep shut, to isolate and ignore.

"You yearn for the affections that you once had as a child. It's no secret." The words strike across his mind like a burn. A wound to his pride, he knows what the other is talking about. He means Sasuke. He means he longs for his adoring little brother, he yearns for the touches he can never have. Perhaps if they had been born in another life-

Pain. White hot sparks though his skin. Teeth perched upon the skin. Digging into the flesh, drawing blood trails to the side of his neck. He stiffens as he feels Madara's other hand, press a hand over his hip. Fingernails digging into the flesh that a milky white color. Lips pulls away from the marred skin, eyes staring back into his soul.

"We'll have to fix that problem won't we? Forget about those foolish little affections."


	3. Chapter 3

It's not that he cares. It's not even like he should care. Yet he finds himself wasting his breathing bringing the kid out of the village. In his defense, he really shouldn't care about him at all. He doesn't need such_ attachments. _He does need someone to fall back and rely on. All that leads to is pain in his eyes, he learned the hard way eons ago.

Madara's heart doesn't exist anymore. It was gone ages ago. It was lost ages ago, and yet why is he drawn to the child. Why does he even bother to bring him away from this place and let him be able to breathe and try to compose himself? The question even Madara doesn't seem to know the answer to. He finds himself doing it. Grabbing the child's forearm into roughened fingers clutching tight.

He can see the child's tears. But his hand merely goes to grip the teen in a bruises grip on his forearm. What was in the past doesn't matter anymore. The child's past is no longer his life. It's no longer who he is. It's no longer of use. The child he once was isn't there anymore. His fingers dig into Itachi's forearm deeper as if to tear him from crying.

"Control your emotions child."

Yes, he's a child in his eyes. He knows so little. So very little. So little. He lacks understanding of things, some things at least, though Itachi may be a bright and smart child he lacks understanding of some subjects. Itachi seems to stiffen at the tighter grip that's thrown upon 's nails beginning to leave crescent moon shaped marks on his skin.

One of the younger Uchiha's hands goes to wipe at the tears that are leaking from his eyes. His darkened locks hiding one of the tear stained eyes of a child. The burden is one that will not be forgotten by him. He cannot forgot it, what he has done. Even being so calm, putting on that facade, even past that he's still a shell of who he once was.

Itachi almost seems to cling at the pain in a sense. It gives him something to struggle and latch onto, something that keeps him alive or makes him want to struggle though each day. Madara pauses for a moment as Itachi sniffs again, his emotions clearly evident getting the better of the boy.

"Control yourself."

It's a bitter barked out order. A lack of emotion in his tone. The grip on the teen now bruising. Madara can see the flesh that pans out to a purple color under his hand that is griping his forearm. His mouth leans over to the shell of the other's ear.

"Forget him, the moment you stuck your sword though thier throats, you lost _him._"

Madara's words are nothing but cruel to the child. Nothing but harsh whispers. He's not going to sugarcoat things, he's not going to tell him that things are alright. No, he knows this boy is smarter than that. He can hear the pathetic noise from the child, the sound of cut of and refrained sobs almost.

"He will hate you. Detest you."

The words are a murmur across the ear. He can feel the boy shift his gaze towards him. The seething emotion beneath the pain that is riddled across his eyes. He can feel the dislike towards him, it is evident that much from the boy. Itachi's other hand goes to pull at his that's holding his forearm.

Madara's fingers dig deeper drawing small welts.

"I only speak the truth. _Itachi_."


	4. Chapter 4

There's a stilled silence that seems to seem endless. One that seems to stretch upon the quiet of the room and seem endless. What might however get someone's attention is the man curled clutching himself like a broken child. The raven locks hanging over his face, and draped over the bare skin of his back. His hands curled around his knees clutching it as hard as they can.

The sight of blood perhaps even evident under the skin, or even crescents in the areas he's touched. He's shaking, more or less and trembling, his legs curled up by his chest. He's bare of any clothing, any hair, not a drop on his body but the hair upon his head. His lips trying to keep the sounds from escaping him, almost a sob breaching past his lips.

Madara is wrecked with another tremble, one that seems to be endless in his frame. His legs crossed over one another to try to calm himself. Fingers biting into the flesh almost as he's trying to self-inflict himself. He's been like this for a few hours, curled valuable in this state in more than one reason. He's naked, lacking anything, an there's vivid emotions that are raging though him.

Emotions that perhaps have not wrecked him since Izuna's death. He's a collected person even when violent and insane, he's collected and never lets a strong emotion like this leak though. He swallows almost numbly trying to not sob. Clutching his white skin hard, feeling his nails dig into it enough to leave marks. It's not enough.

_How foolish had he been? How foolish had he been? He had let someone see a side of him that he knew would be toxic to himself._ Madara had let someone under his walls after decades of being alone and he had chose a dying man at that. Though the patterns in which it happened were corrupted as he noticed, he still couldn't detach the emotion that the prodigy had let him _feel_.

The mental ache had felt like a backlash of a ripped open wound, in the deepest part of him. Madara was unable to even speak at this point. His mind shrouded in the memories of the later. He had known this day was coming, he had sensed it. He has known that it was going to befall them both. It was a matter of time. Fate was a matter of time, but that didn't mean he was going to remain as composed as he said he would.

He had grown too attached. Much too attached, to the point where his old self, the caring elder brother had emerged for brief periods of time around the prodigy. The side that had been softer in nature even after the hell he had put him though. He choked, a low whimper of a noise escaping his lips.

The bare emotions that had escaped into his mind hitting him. The grief that had escaped into him was one that was abnormal for him. It made him clutch his own body tighter, almost afraid of the onslaught of emotion. His body curling tighter on himself. He tried to breath without wheezing or the sharp intake of breath.

_How had he fallen this low? Why had he let the child get under his rock hard skin? Why did he let this happen to himself again? He had swore after Izuna, no one ever would get close to him and understand him again. _The cracks of his mind had caused him weakness, a weakness that had become know upon the mere concern he had suffered though during the contact he had kept with the young Uchiha.

His composure was starting to crack. More and more, this wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be able to walk out of this without anything felt. This had been his cycle, not the others. This had been his game not Itachi's. This had been his corrupt doing, and yet here he was feeling as if someone had squeezed at his heart.

How trivial it had been. It had been useless to fight the emotions. Even as much as he did, he could feel his heart bleeding beneath the surface. A broken noise escaped his throat, one that was pathetic of nature coming from a man that was so corrupted by power and taint. It sounded almost unreal. It didn't feel real.

His eyes had an evident lack of sleep. The shadows under them, apparent and showing. Madara hadn't slept in four days. The exhaustion was in soul, mind and body. The display of emotions he had right now, was ripping him apart in ways he hadn't thought imaginable. He clutched himself tighter, trying to choke back the sobs, and the tears that were threatening to escape him. He tried to focus himself on something anything. But alas he failed.

He more. The purpose had been failed, the weight of it sinking in. _Attachments lead to no good purpose. None at all, caring leads to weakness, weakness I cannot afford any longer. _He gritted his teeth slightly feeling another tremor in his body. A noise that sounded like a sob this time did escape his lips.

Tears. Where not evident until he felt the wet water come across his face. The liquid that seemed inhuman for him to even process let alone fear. _What have I been reduced to? Crying over a child, that was no burden that I caused._ He swallowed his tongue it seemed, the small noises escaping his lips. He didn't bother to move, from how he was curled on himself in the motel room.

He was crying over _him. **God damn him if there was**** one**_. Madara was falling apart at the seams, showing things that no one would ever see. No one would ever know. He had gotten too close to the boy, perhaps in his own twisted way cared a bit too much. He exhaled a breath that was a choked noise.

The prodigy whether he knew it or not had twisted his way inside his heart. It had been a flaw to even care about the other. Weakness, one that should have never happened. One that never should have existed. One that should have remained dead. Madara rests his head on his knee, feeling the hot tears.

_What a petty existence I have become. _ Closing his eyes, he sucked in another breath. Afraid to even think of anymore on the matter. _Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. ____It's a curious, thing, life. 'We almost always question our existence, then again. The only thing from keeping me from slipping into more madness, is you..' _

**_"After all, you have lasted a time that is beyond fathoming with no one to aid you but yourself. You give yourself far too little credit."_**

He had been wrong, he had only survived because he indulged in a darker path that the child had let him do so saving what was left of him. He had seen himself in the young prodigy in a sense the other couldn't even imagine, and Izuna. Madara had lost what was left of himself, the moment he had slipped away into the land that was the dead. He tried not to think, but it was impossible, he given into someone for the last time. The emotional attachment to anything had died, had left him, as he knew the other was heading to a sealed fate.

His crying was the leftover pent up emotions, that had been shown only to the Uchiha. The only one that would ever know that side of the former head of the Uchiha clan. The burden lay upon him, to slain it, and erase him from his mind. But Madara was finding it difficult considering he had spent such a long period with the young prodigy.

_"I failed.."_ There was nothing left but ashes of despair that remained, and a greater self-loathing of himself. A greater one, that vowed he'd never voice human emotion again, not at this cost. Not at the cost that was wrecking his body, making him unable to sleep, and making him this pitiful wreck of a being.

Unknown to anyone, that night the Uchiha cried himself into a slumber that lasted for days. And when he did awaken there was nothing left but red eyes, that had a purpose. And a heart that no longer served a use except living. He had cast away the remains of what was left of humanity and forgotten them, burying them deep inside his heart, to never let out of the chains that bonded them inside the shadows.

These were the ashes of despair.


	5. Chapter 5

There's a silence that seems to cast into days though it's mere seconds and moments. It stretches and it seems almost defining to the one whom is standing there. The piter patters of rain strikes across the ground, the downpour making the quiet seem loud. Standing there obscured under the rain and soaked to the bone in a man. Some would call him that, but to the eyes of a mother he is nothing more than a child thrown into the fragments of war.

Raven strand that part over a face that has the eyes of a man in war but is supposed to be an ignorant child. He's seen much in his life; he's seen things that perhaps that he wishes he never did. That he wanted to never have seen. There's a dulling silence, and a numbness that fills him as he stands at the river. The cold seeping through his clothes and onto his skin, as he kneels there hunched over.

There are no words, none that describe the dysphoria, and dwale that he has been doing since it happened. Exactly what happened he will never be able to grip, nor will he ever be able to speak of right again. The sempiternal pain that is cast into his heart and the shadows that seems to grip and squeeze it with every passing moment. Riddled with the facts of his heart, as his mind tries to push it away and cast it under the pool that is consuming his being. He's haunted by the mere death.

The water that seems like a grave. His eyes black as night leaking what seem to be tears, one can never be quite sure. He's curled by the riverside, hidden out of view, his entire frame shaking it seems, face hidden as much as it can by curling up almost on the dirt. Not caring about the grim or an inch of it that seems to be brought upon him. He can't forget.

No, he'd never forget what happened. The eyes that now bleed, because of the events that occurred this day. He won't forget it till the day he dies, there's a shaking in his frame as he chokes. Feeling a quiet sob raise from his lips despite fighting it for these last fear months after the other had passed. The choking feeling is suffocating across his mind. It's like being pulled under the water even though he isn't, it's like someone has pulled him under and left him there.

The grief that is in his features is evident, even though he said he'd get over _this._ All he wants to do is stop fighting, but he knows that he must live on. He must survive even though this. Though it all, he needs to get though the darkness that tries to shroud his heart. He chokes on a cry curling tighter by the river trembling and shaking. He's trying to not make a noise, trying not to choke on the cries that seem to pour out of him. The wound aching so much, there isn't anything that can be _done_ to fix _this_.

His fingers bite into his palms, sharp pain as he curls against himself by the river. He's curled by it because it's the only thing that seems to make him remember his sense of clarity but at the same time it drags him under. He wants to escape from it all, the agony in his heart. He would shove it under, somewhere in the back of his mind if he could.

But he _can't_.

He can't. He made a promise that he needs to keep. He's been haunted by it. It's painful, but his burden to bear, the weight in which he is held to together even as he cries. Cries of a loss of a loved one that couldn't be avoided. The loss of his best friend, and his cousin. Someone that knew how he felt, that he could actually feel at ease about, and knew the position he was in. He struggles to get ahold of himself as he sits up by the river drenched in the rain. You cannot even tell that he was crying. It looks like the rain had just fallen upon him. It's a weakness to care at times, but it doesn't matter to the young Prodigy that seems to have his heart ripped out.

_I wish, that this had not been casted upon either of us. _

It's the remaining thought left in him, as he lets go of his grief never to cry real tears like this again. Only the next time they will remain as blood, and nothing more. Just _blood _with nothing left of _feeling_ inside of him.


	6. Chapter 6

Red:The 69 Eyes  
Send me a and I will write a short drabble about our muses,  
based on the first song that comes up on shuffle.

It dyed the fingertips. The smell of iron that seems to linger all over him. The smell that he has become accustomed to over the years, the smell of blood. The scarlet liquid that seems to be the main purpose of thier _wicked games_. Though the cycle may progress or slow, the blood-shed is always the same. Emotional or physical, but more times than not mental.

The color of blood. It's real, far more real than anyone would ever imagine. Not just in the sense of bleeding out. The blood is a disease running though thier veins, hearts and mind. It corrupts at the very touch, driving peace and war. The touch of maroon across porcelain skin, is a grim reminder they are not the first to play this discord or paradox.

Wounds are not just a reminder. The wounds draw upon the past, the mental aches that they both shelter deep in thier bones, that ignite at the scent of blood. It's madness as well as a paradox. They both seek for shelter from the wounds they have suffered living the lives they have. The other claims he doesn't need the other, that he can survive.

Survival has been his life, but he's given in. Jet black looks framing a face that has seen the corruption of madness and fits of anger that come and go as quick as the sun rises and sets. The eve of the battle before his fate, is the one that the elder remembers. It's vivid in the in the mind, set in stone what is to fore-take tomorrow.

Yet the other cannot let go of the other. He cannot, and damns his heart for it. The madness that seems to corrupt it stalls. There's an emotion in himself that he despises himself for. Caring for someone you told yourself to hate is unreal. That you never were supposed to become attached to. He has become his counter-balance in a sense, he could never imagine.

Madara exhales a heavy breath, eyes staring into the early twilight of the night. He's trembling almost, the fear that races though his gut makes him want to cut himself open and let himself bleed out.

"I shouldn't be dependent on you. I shouldn't need this paradox of this cycle." Madara's words pauses, seeming to crack. "But I'm damned, that I do. That I need this cycle. That I need this survive." The statement is one that is sharp and almost broken- defeated sounding, the edges of despair as if losing a loved one. His emotions that only are known to the prodigy.

"I was a fool, that got attached to you more than you can ever imagine." There's a moment where there is nothing that is said. Nothing at all, and Madara. He says nothing but perhaps do a simple gesture that seems to come from his heart. His lips that skim across the top of the other's forehead, almost relishing the scent, even so close to smelling like death.

The moment is fleeting when his lips touch upon the skin. It's a ghost of a child that was almost too protective of his brother as the lips touch the skin. The protection that he restored upon this prodigy, the slight respect and adoration leaking though. Lips that touch upon the other's for a mere moment after the kiss to the forehead, but for mere moments.

The bleed of emotions that quakes though Madara, is almost painful. He's unable to speak when he parts from the other, almost shaken and white colored. The hurt straining in his voice as he speaks, voice almost crack. "Death is going to be one big adventure for you." His voice cracks on the words, unable to meet him in the eyes. It's odd to even see Madara breaking like this, but he's been shattered, the lack of sleep even more evident than before.

"Maybe, our fates will intertwine one day, in another life." There is nothing more that can be said, nothing to be said, and maybe for the first time in a decade, the hint of maybe even tears is found on the founder of the Uchiha Clan's features. Itachi was his only weakness, in the present, and soon it will be crushed from his grip like ashes.


	7. Chapter 7

It was manipulation in the highest sense. The cycle that has started ever since he had the searing jealously of seeing the other glorified bastard of the Senju clan talk to his brother as if he had meant something to him. It had uncurled a heat of what seemed to be utter envy under the Uchiha's skin. Despite the fact they had been mere children then, something inside of him had twitched and left a nasty sour taste in the inside of his mouth.

The cycle of games that had been created upon the mere facts that Madara had been talking to the Senju as if they weren't their enemies wanting peace. The wicked game created in the pretense of not only setting forth war but also creating a discord in his own heart. His heart that was already twisted in a purpose of defeating the Senju that had brought forth after Izuna had revealed the lies cast upon him.

How naive he had been. The petty insolence that had become his heart, actually believing the lies that had been thrown aganist it. The shattered fragments of the supposed wanting of peace. They had been nothing but a manipulation. As if the deeds of those men could ever want the peace that Madara had sought after for years.

Blood drenching his fingers, the colour of liars. Ignorance had became nothing more than a petty whisper by the time he had reached late into his late teenage years. By then his hands had been stained by the carnage of war by at least hundreds of men. The innocence of a child washed out with a cruel and manipulative tongue, that held sense and purpose as he spoke among his clan. It had been vicious, and the cycle often left him gasping for air.

The darkness that dawned upon his heart and pulled him under. The weight that pulled him under, encasing his heart in a power, one that could be said was abhorring but most saw it as the shadows of a curse. Madara pursed his lips twisting into a snarl, one that was a forced to be reckoned with when saw itself.

"You should not ∂αη¢є if one has no _wings_ to fly yet."

The words spoken by beyond someone of his age. That seemed less like a young man, and more like a wiser man. One whom had seen past the age of war, it was almost uncanny. How the tongue was so smooth and fluid when talking matters of blood and war. Casting them as if they were nothing into the pool without the bitterness lacing his thoughts spoken out-loud.

But none the less, there was always one other making the choices with the same tongue but of a younger age. His fingers resting upon the shoulder of his younger sibling, Izuna. Whom was staring out into the battle-field that was barren of traces of life only dead bodies.

"One should hold thier ｓｔａｎｃｅ , if they cannot ⻚3⻚9⻜2."

The mirrored alike patterns of thinking left nothing more to say. The brothers has the full cycle of understanding one another even if the other had tainted him to do so. Tainted him in a sense that he used his love and affection to create a warrior that was without mercy and emotions upon the batter field.

The war was not just in the battle-field,

but raging among the men that called one another

ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒｓ.


	8. Chapter 8

**Graveyard:**My character will visit your characters grave.

The chilled silence is one that doesn't give him comfort in anyway. There's no sound as he walks. None at all, he refrains from making any noise of any sound. The former head of the Uchiha seems to hold himself upright as he walks, almost seeming to force it. Yet at the same time he isn't, there's a lack of pride that's normally in his eyes.

His eyes darkened black orbs, they hold nothing in them. Not feelings, none what-so-ever. Though he hasn't got the fainest clue why he is even coming here to visit a grave. A grave that should mean nothing to him at all. Death is a curious thing.

Madara brushes a strand of hair from his eyes. Exhaustion haunts his features, a type of exhaustion the seems to seep into his bones more than ever. He finds himself wandering here more often than he should. Why exactly, he isn't quite sure. The answers he had known at one point, but they've been casted away from his mind.

It's almost ironic that Madara had even bothered to move the body, and bury it in a village it should have been in. It's as if he had been compelled to honor him at least somehow in death even if he won't admit it. It was in his blood to honor the dead.

His fingers rest against the headstone, that is cold this time of year, from the weather. Chilled air making his breath frost, coming out in small heaves. His eyes casting upon the familiar grave, it's not the first time he's been here. No far from it.

He's haunted by his dreams. Nightmares perhaps one would call them, ever since he had turned Sasuke. He had mentioned the truth and spilled everything. Madara had turned the boy to a tool of hate, he had made the boy into his weapon. The nightmares had started since then, replaying the words that he'd choke on his own _blood._

That the prodigy would find a way to kill him even after death. Madara needed to get a grip on reality. "There's nothing you can do to stop me. You're dead, you've been dead for _months_." He snarls out in the empty grave-yard. He hasn't slept, much and he's been so busy reeking havoc, his hysterics are starting to show more and more.

"_You're dead."_

He repeats as if to clarify the air. His body seems to be trembling at this point vivid, red eyes seeming to haunt his own vision, he was just a memory. Nothing but a memory get a hold of yourself. Madara seems to flinch upon hearing a sound, a haunting sound one that seems to make him almost throw his head into his hands and almost let out an uncanny wail.

The noise of a crow that is supposed to be dead. His _crow_. It makes him pale, lose his color and perhaps his composure quicker than one can blink feeling his stomach rise to his throat he moves away from the grave to not heave by it. The bile tastes horrid in his mouth, and he's shaking. Shaking over the fact of a bird.

_I'll find a way to kill you even in death._

He couldn't have meant it. There's no way that he meant it. Madara is losing his mind at this point, there's no way that the other could think this far ahead there's no way that he could ever be alive again. The crow makes another cawing noise- that makes him get goosebumps on his skin- nervous laughter bubbling from within him.

"You're _dead_."

He repeats and the bird, has taken flight almost as if going to perch on someones shoulder- no. No, no no. This has to be another nightmare, his lack of sleep must be doing this to him, this is nothing but a dream, a nightmare.

'_You promised you'd choke on your own blood._'

Panicked and hysterical haunted looking eyes turn to stare, stare at a man that is standing before him as if nothing had happened to him. Madara has to slap himself to convince himself it's a dream. It's not a dream.

The crow is real, and so is the prodigy standing there, and Madara looks like a shell of what he was haunted and stricken by hysterics from nightmares that have been plaguing him since he told Sasuke the truth.

It looks like death is knocking at his _door._


End file.
